Remus Lupin: The Last Free Marauder
by alex0000
Summary: What happened to Remus after that fateful Halloween where he became the last free Marauder? How Remus adjusted to hearing about the news of what happened to his friends, and how he struggles to find a place to fit into the world afterwards. Warnings: Substance abuse/depression. Canon. Implied RS/SB
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing, JK Rowling owns all canon characters, events and universe._

**A/N: **_This is a repost from about a month or so ago. I thought things were getting a little confused and it needed a prologue amongst other things. The rest of the chapters will be longer, and post-Halloween I just wanted to set the scene a little here. Please follow/review etc, it helps to know that people are interested._

**-o0o-**

**Prologue**

Remus tore through the house in panic. "Wait, where are you off to?"

"There's something that I need to sort out. Don't worry about it."

"Sirius, please. You know I like to know where you're going, especially at this time of night." He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "It's not safe."

Sirius turned around to face Remus sharply, his face unreadable. "I don't have to explain myself to you all the time, y'know. There's just stuff that needs doing... Order stuff."

Tension crackled in the air between the two men, and the house was silent, except for the out of place sound of music playing several rooms away. The dark haired man seemed eager to get away, whilst the other was having to hold himself back from reaching out to him, but something was preventing him from doing so.

"We don't seem to talk any more. I don't like it, this war is tearing us apart. You've barely said a word to me since I've been back." There was a begging tone in his voice, and he could feel emotion pooling inside of him.

Anger flashed in Sirius' eyes for a moment. "Stop bloody checking up on me for once and I might be able to relax around you! It's like living with a spy."

With the last word the atmosphere changed rapidly, and the fair haired man's jaw physically dropped as he stared at Sirius, horrified. It opened and closed several times before he managed to get any words out, and when they did they were low, pained and disbelieving. "Is that what you think I am?"

**-o0o-**

"So you think Peter should be the secret-keeper?" Lily asked, bouncing a young toddler on her knee too sooth him as she spoke to both her husband and Sirius.

Both men nodded, but it was James who spoke. "There's no one more that I trust in the world, but Padfoot's just too obvious."

Lily frowned, clearly not sold on the idea. Out of the three men her preference had always been for Remus, he was the one with the level-head, the one who was always grateful to his friends, and was the least likely to do something daft and get them in trouble. Plus, he knew what it meant to keep something a secret, he'd been doing it his whole life. "If it can't be Sirius then what about Remus? I'd feel much safer with him instead of Peter."

"Think about it Lily, we know that one of us is spying for Voldemort. Wormtail doesn't have the brains, let alone the gumption, and even I have no idea where Remus keeps vanishing off to when he says he's on Order business." Sirius spoke in a remarkably mellow manner compared to usual, and it was just possible to detect an undercurrent of hurt in his voice. "And now he knows that I think he's the spy."

James' head snapped around to look at him. "Dumbledore told us to keep it quiet that we know there's a spy!"

"Prongs mate, I can't keep living with him. He's always checking up on me, pretending that he cares about me. I just can't do it any more."

"I still don't think Remus could do it. He's just not that sort of person."

Sirius crouched before Lily, and tickled Harry on the cheek, causing him to wrinkle his nose and reach out for Sirius' finger with a chubby hand. "Lily, sweet, I would never do anything to hurt Harry, or you, or James. He's my godson. Trust me on this, it's safest for all of you if you make Peter the secret-keeper, not me. I'm too much of a target."

**-o0o-**

"Why is it that you have summoned me, Pettigrew?"

Peter bowed low on his knees, his neck bared, and face almost touching the floor. "I have good news for you, My Lord."

"Tell it to me. It is about time you did something useful for me."

Upon hearing the harsh tone and disappointment of his master, he let out a small whimper that was quickly stifled, but did not raise his head. "My Lord, I am to become the Potter's Secret-Keeper."

A twisted grimace of a smile showed on Voldemort's face. "Very good Pettigrew, it is possible you will be of some use after all. When will the ceremony take place?"

"October 23rd, at the Potter's place itself."

"You are to report to me immediately. Perhaps then I will consider rewarding you for your loyalty. Now, be gone."

"Y-yes Master." Peter stuttered, bowing low again, before scuttling away, tremors shuddering through his body.


	2. The Last Breakfast

**A/N **_I own nothing, JK Rowling owns all canon characters, events, and universe._

_My internet has been down again, which is why there has been such a long wait. If you've read this before please re-read as although the events which happened are similar, I've changed quite a few chunks of text. I'll stop saying that now. Rate and review please._

**Breakfast, 1st November 1981**

It was light by the time that the owls had come to the end of their silent journey from the bustling city of London to rural north Wales. One owl broke free from the parliament and headed further into the wilderness below, whilst the remainder carried on flying north-west. On it's left leg there was a tightly rolled newspaper, and on its right there was a small leather pouch. Fifty feet below, people were beginning their morning commute, unaware of the news being carried by the owls, and oblivious of the fact that owls even delivered news.

A few miles away from the owl, tucked away in dense woodland, the residents of a small cottage were just beginning to eat their breakfast. One of the men was clearly in his seventies, but the other was much harder to age. There was a youthful look about him, as if he was was not long out of school, but there were flecks of grey in his hair, too many scars on his body, and a hardness about his eyes that showed that he had seen too much in his life. Both of them sat at the scrubbed pine table, cradling cups of scalding hot tea, not entirely comfortable with each other, but not strangers either.

"Did you know that they're trying to discover the exact form of Legilimency that is practiced by Boggarts?" The younger of the two men asked without looking up from the milky depths of his tea, clearly facinated by the subject.

"I supposed the Ministry thinks that it's the best use of their time." The elder said, not impressed by the information. He chuckled, "Not that we should expect the Ministry to know much about anything these days with Bagnold in charge."

The younger reached out for a slice of toast, muttering, "Have they ever?" He bit into the dry toast and chewed thoughtfully.

There was another loud chuckle, "Don't be such a cynic Remus John Lupin, no wonder you've got so many grey hairs already! You're almost catching me up!" To prove his point he ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, which had receded so far up his forehead it was impossible to tell where his scalp began.

Remus laughed, slightly half-heartedly, and opened his mouth to respond but thought better of himself and filled it with another mouthful of toast. As he chewed his murky green eyes bored into the scrubbed pine tabletop, as if searching for the meaning of life written in the grains. When his mouth cleared he spoke again, his voice now levelled and measured, the vague awkwardness back in the air. "Do you still get the Prophet delivered?"

His question was answered with a nod, and the man reached into his left breast pocket for the pocket-watch held by a brass chain. Eight hands, of varying length and colours, were arranged on the face at different angles, pointing at some of the twelve moons around the edge of the watch. His brow wrinkled slightly as he deciphered it. "It's normally here by now."

Remus hummed in response, and stood up from the table, pacing over the flagstone floor towards the window, where he stood, gazing out at the damp field where the sun was just beginning to burn off the dew from the night before. An odd expression of reminiscence covered his face, not quite sadness, but not quite a smile either.

"You know, we hated it when you did that as a boy."

"I know. You thought I would never be able to go to Hogwarts." Remus said softly, not moving his gaze from the window.

"Hope, your mother, she... we just wanted to keep you safe, and I..." He trailed off for a while before taking a deep breath and continuing. "We didn't want you to... get into trouble."

Remus turned around, his face now broken into a clear smile, "And look what happened, I became a Marauder."

The relief on his father's face was clear, and a slight smile pulled at his lips as his sipped at his tea. "The tea's drinking temperature now. Were you expecting anything important in the Prophet?"

Remus joined his father back at the table, picking up his own mug and drinking from it, carefully at first, and then deeper. "No, not really. I just like to know what's going on. You never know when someone you know might be hurt. I don't know how you manage living out here, especially these days."

He wasn't sure whether he was referring to the death of his mother a year ago, or the war which was raging silently around them. Guilt twinged in his stomach, knowing that his father was only so alone and cut off from the world because he didn't visit as much as he knew he should. It had been difficult, with the work that he'd been doing, and he had made the effort to see him for Halloween, even if it had been because he'd not fancied spending the night on his own either.

"You get used to it, y'know? And you pop round from time to time."

"I'd come more often but... well, with the things the way that they are at the moment..." He sighed, wishing he could off load some of this thoughts onto his father.

An owl swooping silently through the window caused Remus to trail off, and automatically he stepped forward to take the newspaper it was carrying from its leg, but before he managed to touch the paper, it screeched and buried its beak into his hand, causing him to pull back and hiss in pain. "Little bugger!"

His father just laughed, and untied the newspaper that was being calmy proffered to him by the owl. He allowed the paper to unfurl on the table as he tucked a small bronze knut into the pouch on its other leg. The bird hooted gratefully and waddled its way across the table to start pecking at Remus's abandoned slice of toast. He turned the paper to his son, pointing out where the name 'Lyall Lupin' was scrawled in the top margin, and began to explain that he was the only one allowed to take it.

Remus wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on the photograph beneath. A photograph of a place which was almost unrecognisable, even though it was one that he could call home.

The room suddenly fell silent and cold. With a shaking hand, Remus reached out for the paper, and took it from his father, spreading it out on the table. His eyes scanned over it, and with each word that they read the colour drained further from his face, and the tremors spread from his hands into his arms and legs, until he was clutching at the table to stay on his feet.

_RAISE YOUR CUPS TO THE BOY WHO LIVED_

_In the late hours of last night, it is believed that the powerful dark wizard, commonly only known as You-Know-Who, was defeated in Godric's Hollow, Devon. Godric's Hollow is best known for being the home to many famous wizards, the most noteable of which being Godric Gryffindor, one of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is not yet known what brought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to Godric's Hollow last night, although there are thoughts that it may have been related to his last victims, James and Lily Potter, both twenty one. The young couple were alone in their cottage with their one year old son Harry when they were attacked._

_It still remains unclear what happened to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, although rumour states that the cause of his demise was the Potter's young son, Harry, who managed to survive and has been taken to safety. Investigations are still on going to determine the precise events which occurred–_

He could read no more. His breath was coming in raggedy gasps. His brain was incapable to processing the thoughts that were pounding into him again and again, forcing the air out of his lungs like a rogue bludger. James and Lily. His last victims, James and Lily Potter. It didn't make sense, it wasn't possible. They were the ones who'd made the best out of their lives, they were the ones who had managed to get everything together. They were Lily and James. Remus's brain was reeling, and his body was refusing to cooperate with the basic functions of life.

At some point his knees must have finally given way, because he slowly became aware of Lyall kneeling beside him, touching his shoulder gently. Automatically the young man sought comfort, and he crawled his way forward to collapse on his father's shoulder, in a way that he hadn't done since he was six years old. He clung to him as if his life depended on it, and as if it would bring his friends back. One thought swum through his mind repeatedly, that they couldn't have gone because they had never said goodbye. James might have been an arrogant prick, but he'd always had his manners. He would have never left without saying goodbye.

Time slowed to a standstill in the small kitchen, existing of nothing but crushing thoughts, the feeling of rough tweed that was growing damper and damper, and the struggle for breath. Remus gasped, trying to force oxygen into his lungs, but only finding snot, tears, and pain. He wished that they could go back to that morning, that the owl had never managed to arrive, and they could have finished their day in blissful ignorance of everything. Cut off from the world surrounded by nothing by the wild Welsh countryside, without the war, without the moon, without anything.

_But Remus couldn't do ignorance, it wasn't in his nature. His nature was to go looking for information, to go reaching for the newspaper first thing in the morning, to eagerly discover that the people who had given him the chance to feel human, were never going to smile at him again, patch him up, or turn his curse into something which bound them together. His nature was to be hurt._


	3. To the Boy-Who-Lived!

**A/N **_I own nothing, JK Rowling owns all canon characters, events, and universe._

_I haven't been uploading because I don't know if anyone's interested in this or not. If anyone is then let me know and I'll keep writing, I know what happens, I just don't want to waste my time typing it all up if no one's interested._

**Morning 1st November 1981**

"...Remus, come on son." Lyall's voice pleaded for his son to come out of the puddle of grief he had collapsed in, knowing that the more he broke down the harder it would be for him to built himself back up. It was a feeling he knew all too well following the death of his wife, and knew too that it didn't help to wallow in self-pity.

The young man, now looking younger than ever, just quivered in his arms, sobbing heavily. "I thought we were all going to make it."

Lyall couldn't think of any words to say to comfort his son, knowing that there was nothing that would bring them back. He was just grateful that he was able to be there for his son, to be able to do something right for once. He couldn't imagine how Remus was feeling, he'd lost not one but two best friends, and it had been a complete shock. At least they'd known that Hope wasn't going to make it, there had been a few days to prepare, but this was completely out of the blue, and they were as close as family to him, perhaps closer, they'd given him the childhood that he'd never been able to have.

In the end, Lyall decided that the best thing he could do was to simply hold Remus as close to him as possible, feeling guilty that he was glad to be able to embrace his son, and even more guilty that he was relieved it had been his sons best friends that had been killed. Although he had never spoken a word of it – something which Lyall was grateful for – it was plain to see that Remus was taking an all too active part in the war. Each day he read the Daily Prophet with trepidation that he would see Remus Lupin's name in print upon the paper. Somehow he'd never considered the damage that it might do to him to lose his friends to the war, even though they'd always been terrified that Remus would lose their friendship just a few years ago as a young boy at Hogwarts.

After a stretch of time that felt like both an eternity and a split second to both men, but in which the clock had ticked a thousand times, Remus finally straightened up slowly. He reached up to his face and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sniffing once. His features hardened as he climbed to his feet with the help of the table, and he walked over to the sink to splash his face in the cold well-water, trying off with the tea towel hanging over the door of the Aga.

"I should go and see Sirius and Peter." He said, sounding calm on the surface, but just underneath the inner turmoil threatened to break free.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"We're Marauders. We stick together." Remus replied simply, knowing that it wasn't strictly the truth. Not any more. They hadn't trusted each other for a while now, and Remus had become the scapegoat. The war had turned neighbours against neighbours, brothers against brothers, and Marauders against Marauders. One Marauder in particular had been labelled the outcast, and that was obviously the lycanthropic one, he would have expected no less. There was no logic and no reasoning behind it, it was just folklore and common knowledge, no matter how untrue it was. He'd always known that the way would come when his friends had stopped seeing him as human and saw him for what he really was.

The pushed his hand through his hair, trying to push away the memory of one of the last time's he'd seen Sirius, when he'd been accused of being a spy. It wasn't something that he wanted to think about, especially not now. There was nothing less he wanted to think about than the wedge that had been driven between the group in what were now James and Lily's final days.

The door swung open, squeaking on its hinges as it did so. There had been no knock to announce the arrival of anyone, but in the doorway there was a tall, thin man, with a grey beard that reached down past his belt buckle. On his body he was wearing a pair of dark black robes, and his eyes were downcast behind his half moon spectacles. He strode over towards Remus without a word of greeting to either him or his father.

When he spoke it was abrupt and sharp. "Have you seen Sirius Black?"

It was a sign of how empty and emotionless he was that Remus's stomach didn't twist, and his skin didn't flush at the mention of the name. Instead he simply shook his head, too numb to even consider why he was being asked.

"Do you know where he may be?"

"I haven't seen him for over a week!" Remus blurted out, his frustration at being abandoned finally being drawn out by the impertinent questioning by his former headmaster, and current leader, Albus Dumbledore. The man who had kept taking him away from Sirius to the point where he had become so distrustful that they had gone their separate ways and all of his friends had turned against him. Anger bubbled up inside him as he realised that it was because of Dumbledore that Sirius had left. "He left me!"

Lyall cleared his throat loudly, stepping forward. "I think you should leave now." There was no question about it, it was a command.

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow slightly, but didn't make any comment, or show any signs of being in a hurry to leave. "Contact me immediately if you hear anything." In his own time he turned and strode back towards the door, only when he was between the door-frame did he pause, and turn around, one elegant hand on the wood, and his face now softened. "I'm sorry for your loss Remus."

The only response Remus dared to give was a curt nod and a sarcastic cough.

Silence fell upon the kitchen as Dumbledore left, only to be broken by Lyall's snort of disapproval. "He's just as patient and obnoxious as ever."

"He's probably got a lot going on." Remus muttered, but the usual reverie he held for his former headmaster was gone from his voice, replaced by hurt and anger. "I'm going to find Sirius."

Lyall still had his mouth open to argue when Remus strode over to the door, picked up his worn brown leather boots, and marched back through the kitchen to the living room. By the time Lyall had got to door himself he was only able to glimpse his son throwing a handful of powder into the fireplace, and stepping into the brilliant green flames. Although he strained his ears they were too old and too far away to make out the words over the roaring of the flames. With a sigh, he returned to his now cold tea, but drank from it anyway, shaking the head at the fact that Remus's grey hairs hadn't stopped him acting like a stubborn teenager. His eyes fell upon the _Daily Prophet _once more, and he skimmed the rest of the article.

– _last night, although it is thought that the Potter's had gone into hiding due to being known members of the resistance against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's reign of terror. The Auror office refuses to give any more comment at the time, but assures us that a full investigation is currently under way, including an investigation as to exactly what happened to You-Know-Who._

_Although the events are not set in stone, it is reasonable to remind you all to raise a cup to baby Harry Potter, the only known survivor of the Killing Curse. We contacted Professor Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin (First Class), Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to hear his thoughts on the matter, however his only response was that "I have many theories as to what caused young Harry Potter to be able to remain living in extraordinary circumstances, and also to defeat [You-Know-Who], but each are as unlikely as the next." Whatever the cause of last night's events it's fair to say that there is cause to celebrate._

_To the Boy-Who-Lived!_


	4. Navigating the Darkness

**A/N:**_My life is literally all over the place at the moment. I'm trying to keep on top of other stuff let alone this, but here's a bit more._

-o0o-

**Afternoon, 1st November 1981**

Remus Lupin spent the day searching the countryside and streets for Sirius and Peter, but hadn't the slightest clue of where to look. It hadn't been an easy task for him to do, apparition was dangerous for someone who's body wasn't always their own, even without the distraction of his world falling to pieces around him. The Knight bus was an option of course, but questions got asked, news got passed around, and that wasn't something that he could face. Eventually he managed to Floo to a couple of their old haunts, mostly the places they'd spent drunken and rowdy nights while Remus had tried to keep them reasonably undercontrol before they'd been forced to grow up. There was no sign of them, not even the faintest patch of urine; one of the animagus's favourite past times had always been marking his territory.

When he had checked at Peter's house he found it empty, with not even his mother there. It wasn't anything unusual, Enid Pettigrew was the youngest of all their parents, and she still worked as far as Remus was aware. He found it a little odd that Peter had gone out on his own, normally he preferred to hang around inside unless someone invited him out, in which case he followed like an eager puppy. It was with dejection in his stomach and panic rising that Remus returned back to his house, or rather the house Sirius had brought with money he'd inherited from one of the members of his family who hadn't completely forgotten about his existence.

Despite having been living there alone for the past week, and other times before, fighting for the Order, or fighting between themselves, the house had never seemed so empty. Cracking open the front door, Remus weakly called Sirius's name, already knowing that there would be no reply. The air was cold, and there was no scent of Firewhiskey or dog. Automatically, he headed for the kitchen, and put a kettle on the stove, trying to think of any other places that Sirius or Peter might have gone, preferably Sirius. Their house had been one of the most likely places, yet the least likely, and he wasn't surprised to find it empty, but knowing that it was made it harder for him to believe he would ever find Sirius at all. If he hadn't been forgiven now, in a time when they needed each other most, then when would he?

A thought stabbed at Remus's chest, and he doubled over in agony. Did Sirius really think that he'd been a spy?

The kettle boiled but was never used, sitting there and whistling while it's owner gasped for breath, his forehead pressing against the formica worktop, light brown hair dangerously close to the marmalade. He heaved, bringing up a small amount of bile, and spat it into the sink. Remus's head was spinning and he wanted to fall out of reality, even if it was just for a couple of hours. Was this why Sirius had drunk? Was it like he claimed it to be and it was just for the added fun, or had he drunk away the pain of war?

His mouth rinsed with warm water from the kitchen tap, Remus finally managed to pull himself together enough to drag himself back outside, and down the flight of stairs, the ubiquitous smell of stale urine and takeaway pizzas assaulting his nose. He was sure that Sirius had contributed greatly to both. A few staggering steps down the road he swallowed lungfuls of the crisp autumn air, trying to push away the thoughts that were clouding his brain and think of somewhere that Sirius might have gone.

At the realisation that the most likely place for Sirius to stay whilst he refused to come home would have been the Potter's, bile threatened to escape from Remus's stomach again. He clenched his stomach and stopped the bitter liquid from rising in his throat, reminding himself that had anyone else been harmed at the Potter's it would have been mentioned in the Prophet too. The fourth Marauder popped into his head, and Remus wondered whether Sirius had been staying with Peter. It wouldn't have been hard for him to convince the chubby man to let Sirius stay with him for a while, he'd always agreed to anything that the dark haired pair of troublemakers had suggested. He hoped, for some reason that he couldn't quite put into words, that Sirius hadn't been staying there though. Perhaps it had just been the frequent disappearances that he could give no explanations for, or if it was because he'd seemed more and more like the rat he could become in recent months, but he seemed less trustworthy than any of the others.

Remus cursed himself at thinking that way, he knew it was just the war paranoia making him think that way. He also knew how it felt to be on the wrong end of that paranoia. Oh yes, he knew, all too well. The empty space on the left hand side of his bed reminded him of that every night. As had the breakdown of communication between them ever since Dumbledore had suggested he search out for other wizards with the affliction of lycanthropy, and try to keep them on the right side, or at least see whether Voldemort was trying the same tactic. It was just paranoia, nothing but a trick of the mind.

No more than ten minutes later, Remus found himself standing outside Dalston Junction overground station, and dug in his pockets for some Muggle coins. Most people thought of him as strange for carrying sterling wherever he went, but both Sirius and him had always been keen on using the London transport systems over apparition. It had been one of the reasons they'd moved there in the first place, even though the Po... their friends, had settled in the countryside. Sirius had loved it because it was a Muggle thing, and anything that would upset his family was a bonus in his eyes, Remus because he was terrible at apparition, and both of them because of the nostalgia of the journeys to the safety of Hogwarts.

He didn't have to wait long at the platform before stepping onto a train heading west, and he only stayed on for a few stops, disembarking at Highbury and Islington. Checking the times showed that although the journey on the overground would be quicker, he would need to wait considerably longer for a train, and so, he made the trek down to the underground platforms, following the signs for the southbound Victoria line. Standing at the edge of the platform the urge to step forward grew strong in his stomach, tempting him to fall down onto the line and play chicken with both the trains and that peculiar Mugglish form of magic known as "electricity".

It would be so easy just to step off the edge, and have a blackness even darker than what resided in the tunnel engulf him... blackness where he would be with James and his perpetually messy hair, and Lily, combing it down in vain, loving everyone with her limitless kindness. To have laughter and friendship surround him again. They would know that he wasn't a spy, Sirius's hot-headedness didn't speak for all of them. Once they were back together he could explain everything. Remus's knee twitched, tempting him to leap, but something in the back of his head growled, and his foot remained stuck to the floor. He couldn't tell if it had been the wolf, or his human self-preservation instincts, but part of him didn't want to die just yet. As the rush of wind announced the arrival of the next tube train, Remus stepped backwards, well behind the warning on the floor reminding him to "mind the gap".

An image of Sirius floated into Remus's mind and he couldn't tell if that made things easier or worse, but was enough to him on the train. As it rushed through the underground tunnels, far beneath the streets of London, he thought of the people above ground. He was jealous of their ignorance of what was going on beneath their feet, or in another civilisation that brushed against theirs. It was true that they didn't know what was giving thousands a reason to celebrate, but it also meant that they didn't have everything they knew wrenched away from them either.. He made a conscious decision to devote the journey to dissecting the obscure choice to of words in the phrase "mind the gap". And Merlin only knew, there was no chance of him forgetting the gap in his life now.

It didn't take that long for him to get to Kings Cross St Pancras, where he struggled not to go up to the station proper and stare at platform 9 ¾. Maybe even try to get on it, to get on a train and run back up to Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, his childhood. But knowing that he had to put the record straight with Sirius overwhelmed him. It occurred that the last place Sirius would have gone would be back to his childhood home, Grimmauld Place, but he knew no where else to go. The alternative possibilities were no more appealing.

It was all he could to to hold himself together, arms wrapped around himself, during his final leg of the journey, where he got off at Angel. The crowd of people tried to push him off the incredibly narrow island platform into the tracks on the other side, and it was only by grabbing at someone's arm that he managed to save himself. He looked up to thank them, his breath catching as he saw their long curled black hair, but then his chest caved as they threw him a filthy look and charged off, leaving Remus with a pounding heart. It made no sense why he saved himself when minutes before falling onto the rails was such a sweet, sweet temptation. There was no purpose for him there any more, the war had been won, James was dead, Lily was dead, Sirius hated him, and Peter hadn't been the same lately. Albus would disband the Order of the Phoenix, and then there would be nothing else. Only the vague belief that his friends wouldn't want him to give up that easily, and one day he could prove to Sirius that it hadn't been his fault at all.

He turned to his left, making a dogged path up the steps towards the lift, thankful that the Full Moon had been long gone, and his bones weren't aching in their usual manner for once. The scars had mostly healed now, it was one benefit of running in the werewolf packs, they distracted him from attacking himself. Despite that, he moved slower than he had ever done before in his life, sluggish legs carrying his numb body. The bubble he was occupying moved in a time warp tot he rest of the world, and he didn't have the energy to run to keep up.

It was a fact that hadn't gone amiss by the Lift Operator, particularly miserable, even for someone who spent most of their working life deep beneath the ground. "C'mon, hurry up. We close at midnight! Show us yer ticket."

With a scowl he brandished the ticket and stepped into the lift. The operator settled back onto his wooden stool, pulling the lever to shut the door. They both grabbed onto the rail at the side as the operator prattled on about the impending apocalypse, and his stomach vanished through the bottom of the lift. Apparition was almost comfortable in comparison to getting out of one of the deepest tube stations in the capital in a rickety metal box. There was no way that he could face the climb up to the top via steps though.

"...we're all going to die, 'ave you 'eard that?" He was glaring at Remus, demanding a response.

"Uh." Remus grunted, not having heard a word of it, too busy worrying about his own problems and trying to keep his ears from popping and his stomach from emptying.

"It's the motor cars they say, they're all going to kill us. All that machinery and fumes."

The lift shuddered to a halt, and Remus turned to the man, throwing the statue of secrecy to the wind. "Whilst your world was saved last night, the end of mine began. Believe you me, motor cars are the least of your worry. It's human nature that's the destroyer."

As he stepped back out into the outside world, he was still rubbing at his head, wondering what had possessed him to tell the Lift Operator even just a fraction of his troubles. He'd never met the man before, and he wasn't one for wearing his heart on his sleeve to strangers. The sky above was grey and miserable, and he would have said it was a pathetic fallacy if British weather wasn't always so dull. It took him a moment to work out which way Grimmauld Place was, but regained his bearings, latching onto the hop that for some unknown reason Sirius would have been there. He would tell him that it had all been a nightmare, his rash accusation was just a figment of his imagination, and that Lily and James had just sent them a patronus inviting them over for dinner to celebrate Harry learning how to say "Prongs". A stake was wrenched through his chest as he realised that he might never get to see Harry growing up again, he'd been the closest thing he'd ever get to a son, even if it was Sirius who had been made Godfather.

Then it struck how thick he'd been. A patronus. It would have been infinitely easier to find Sirius with a patronus. But the middle of a Muggle street was never the best place to perform magic, particularly such a striking piece, and he was almost there anyway. So he kept on walking. If necessary he'd find somewhere secluded to cast the charm. Before he realised it he was walking down Grimmauld Place, scanning the side of the road for Sirius' parents house, hardly daring to hope that a big black dog would come bounding towards him up the street.

No dog appeared, but the house in question was standing tall in front of him, having slid out of no where, large and imposing. Breath caught in his throat as he realised that this was where Sirius had frown up and spent the vast majority of his life, despite having run to James' at the soonest opportunity. It was behind those walls that his family had tried to indoctrinate him into pure blood fanaticism, and ruined his childhood, turning even his brother against him. As he stared at the building it sunk in how much he must have hated it there, in that pretentious street, with black railings and three story Gregorian houses. It was the very opposite of the house he'd brought with his Uncle Alphard's money, which was quirky, located on a triangular traffic island surrounded by junctions, only accessible by climbing up the stairs to the front door. It wasn't quire a flat, but it wasn't a house either. It wasn't quite anything, and when he had pointed it out, Sirius had laughed and said it was just like Remus himself, and that had sealed the deal.


	5. The House of Black

**Evening, 1****st**** November 1981**

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place continued to stare down upon Remus. It took a long while for him to swallow and begin striding towards the house, not knowing what horrors might await him within, in the form of the Black family. There was also the possibility that Sirius might be there too, and somehow that was altogether more terrifying than anything else he could imagine. Finding out where he was would be one thing, actually facing him was another, especially now... after what had happened... and had been said. His hand shook as he rose it to the raven's head knocker. At the sight of the knocker his stomach lurched, having recognised a similar symbol on Sirius' trunk until he had cursed it off in his second year.

The door swung open slowly, and Remus looked down to find a small ragged house-elf at his feet, muttering in a low deep voice. He knew enough about house-elves from staying at James' parent's manor on the odd occasion, but they'd always looked somewhat more healthy than the miserable specimen before him. Bones were clearly visable beneath the tattered cloth that he wore in place of robes, and fold of skin fell loosely around the tiny skeleton. The Potter's house-elf had always worn clean well kept pieces of clothes that were more like togas than rags. If it hadn't been for the madness in his eyes, more sunken than the characteristic bulbous eyes, Remus would have pitied him. He swallowed, not taking the elf as a good omen.

"I'm here to speak with Mr and Mrs Black." He said bluntly, doing his best to put on the appropriate airs and graces whilst assuming that the house-elf was used to hearing orders and not requests.

"Kreacher must be telling Sir that Master Orion joined young Master Regulus in the beyond, Sir." The house-elf sniffed and twisted his hands in the rag, a breathless mutter leaving his lips.

Remus was taken aback, unaware that Sirius' father had died. He didn't even know if Sirius had known, it wouldn't have been surprising that they hadn't told him. Mentally he made a note to broach the subject carefully if he got a chance. He scolded himself immediately, he shouldn't think like that, _when _he got a chance. "Is Mrs Black available?"

Kreacher grumbled and muttered something below his breath again, but stepped back from the door, his long bare feet making little sound on the varnished black wood floor. His skinny arm beckoned Remus into the entrance hall, still muttering all the while. In the dim light on the lanterns he could vaguely see something which looked suspiciously like the shrunken heads of house-elves in the pureblood novels he'd read about in order to try and understand Sirius' upbringing better without prying. He had to fight the morbid fascination to stop and stare at them, wondering if they would be happy to be there.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him his stomach was filed with a deep sense of unease, trapped in the dank claustrophobic atmosphere, and wished that he'd never come to Grimmauld Place and was still in his father's light and airy kitchen diner. This was not a family which would take kindly to a man of his condition, and he had wandered into their territory of his own accord. He'd spent a lifetime hiding away his condition, and all bar three second year's had been oblivious, but there was always that fear in the back of his mind, ever more so than there was now. His life had been in danger during Order work, but there had always been friends to fall back on and dig him out of trouble, but now they were gone and he was a lost werewolf in his midst of pureblood fanatics. He was a reckless idiot, and that wasn't something that people said of Remus John Lupin often.

He was led through the house, past generation of paintings that showed Sirius' narrow nose, and he stared at the floor, avoiding that particular variety of scorn that paintings could only give, suggesting that they knew more than they should, and having to see that particular trait on anyone other than Sirius. He couldn't help laying his eyes on a painting of Regulus Black, Sirius' younger brother, who has died as a Death Eater two years prior. They had never spoken about the incident other than a brief comment when it had been announced in the _Prophet_, leaving Remus to wonder whether he'd cared about his brother more than he dared to let on. It was clear from the painting and it's ornate frame that he'd always been the favoured sibling; there was no sign of another son anywhere.

They stopped outside a door on the right. Kreacher silently motioned to stop, and he stepped inside the door, talking in a low raspy voice. Left in the corridor, Remus wiped his profusely sweating palms on his trousers, realising far too late that it would have been prudent to at least wear robes for the occasion. James' voice popped into his head and he could almost believe that he was there beside him, admonishing him for not bowing to the pureblood sensibilities when meeting his partner's parents for the first time.

The house-elf reappeared briefly, announcing that, "Mistress Walburga will be seeing you now", before disapparating with a sharp pop.

With a deep breath and a heart about to pound its way out of his ribcage Remus entered the study. The first thing that he noticed was that the woman who sat there was both as stern and regal as he'd imagined, but also looked considerably older than she should. Her grey hair was pale to the point of almost being white, and was held neatly in a large bouffant, highlighting the pointed features of her face. Her breathing was faintly rattling, and it was clear that her health was deteriorating and had been for some time.

He held his hand out to her, and did his best not to recoil when her cold skin met his. "Good afternoon Mrs Black. My name is Remus Lupin."

"Lupin?" She questioned, pulling her hand away from his faster than was normally considered polite, wrinkling her nose at his muggle attire, and sniffing despite her failing lungs. "That is not a name I'm familiar with."

"It's my father's." He commented, knowing that she would assume that his father was a muggle, not that he had been disowned by his own family for supporting his werewolf son, and had been forced to change his name, choosing something ironically appropriate.

"What brings such filth into the Noble House of Black?" She sneered, looking down her nose.

"I am half-blood," He pointed out, hoping that it would redeem him slightly. When her facial expression didn't change he realised that his cause was almost as good as lost already, and wished that he had the nuance to wear robes and introduce himself by a pureblood name. "I am a friend of your son's, and I'm concerned for his whereabouts."

The previously pale and sickly face of Walburga rapidly turned ruddy in anger, the wheeze left her voice as she screeched, several octaves higher than her usual careful tone. "My son left us two years ago fighting for the purity of the wizarding race! How dare you enter this house on false pretences and besmirch us with your filth! He would never befriend scum of your ilk."

"It was not Regulus I was talking abo-" Remus swallowed, nerves biting into his throat.

"He is the only son I have. Leave!"

The blood boiled in Remus' veins, his body began to shake, and his hands clenched into fists of their own accord. It took all of his strength not to draw his wand, or shake the last remnants of life out of the frail woman's body. Even the rattle of her breathing, now returned, angered him. Here was a woman who had lost almost everything, and was still doggedly denying the existence of her only remaining son, the son who hadn't killed, maimed, and fought against innocent people to fulfil the twisted wishes of Voldemort.

He took a deep breath and let it out shakily, trying to maintain his calm. "Mrs Black, Sirius' best friends have been murdered, he is in danger."

"I have no other son!" Her hand reached for the wand resting on the desk beside her, and with that Remus took his leave, his own hand curling around the wand in his pocket automatically.

Almost before he was out the door it slammed violently shut behind him, and there was a shattering from within the study, followed by howling sobs. He paused for a second, uncomfortable remaining unaccompanied in the house where Sirius has spent most of his early childhood before running away to somewhere more welcoming, but leaving Walburga - as vile as she was - in such agony was wrong. His feet were rooted to the floor as his brain tried to decide what they should do. The longer he stood there the more he realised that they were similar, in more than one way. Remus had lost his mother and his best friends, people who had always been a second family to him, and Walburga had lost both her husband and son. Both of them had lost Sirius after an argument, only he'd argued with Remus less than a fortnight ago, while his argument with his mother had been six years ago, and they'd never laid eyes on each other since.

His hand found its way back to the doorknob before he'd really decided what he was doing. As soon as it made contact he recoiled as a sharp pain seared up his arm, fighting hard to stifle a yelp. He cradled the hand to his chest, feeling an unpleasant tingle all the way up his arm, and was thankful that it hadn't been his wand hand. Deciding to remain the other side of the door he cleared his throat and called out to her. "Mrs Black, I care about your son." His voice choked on the words, having never dared to utter them aloud to anyone other than the Marauders' and Albus.

There was no response, not even threats to kick the heathen scum that he was out of her house and into the next decade. He could only take that as a good sign, so he tried again. "I'm worried about him. I don't want to lose him too, I'm sure you understand."

Remus held his breath as he tried to listen to what was happening within the study, but he heard nothing except her rattling breath, disrupted by the occasional sob. It could have been nothing but the blood rushing through his head, but he thought he heard her whisper the words "Nor do I," but he couldn't be sure. Then there was a sharp crack and Kreacher was back at his feet, ushering him out of the building without time to hestiate.

Back on the street he immediately felt less repressed, but his emotions were in more of a tangle than they had been before he'd entered Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It was now apparent that Sirius was not there, had not been there, and would never return there, but his feelings towards the woman who had brought him into the world were mixed more than ever. He despised her for all the pain that she'd caused Sirius in his early life, but he could understand that she hated losing all of her family in a few short years. He pitied her dying alone with nothing but a miserable house-elf and his ancestors shrunken skulls for company. There was still a small part of her that cared for Sirius, he'd seen it in her eyes and her whispered words.

There was no point staying in Grimmauld Place, but he didn't want to be confined back to the emptiness of his house, and the two other options, the wreckage of Godric's Hollow and Peter Pettigrew's, were equally as unwelcoming. The grassy area hiding the reservoir opposite was as good as any to cast a patronus, so it was there that he headed. There were identical black railings surrounding it - a place like that would never be seen with barbed wire within a mile, but they posed no challenge to him. A simple charm severed a couple of bars neatly, and a _reparo _knitted them back together in a matter of seconds.

Hidden safely behind one of the neatly tended bushes, he searched his mind for a memory to draw the happiness from, but his usual one was missing, tinted grey and locked behind bars much thicker than the one's he'd just removed. No longer could he see him and Sirius, laughing by the Great Lake in the dead of the night, Sirius' head on his chest and the star light beaming down on him. Sirius pointing out the star that he'd been named after and Remus watching it for the rest of the night, except for when his breath was taken away the first time that Sirius' lips, salty from the Great Lake, touched his own. Equally every other memory he had of Sirius, or the other Marauders' was nothing short of painful. Time lost all meaning to him as he crouched there, racking his brains for something which was still colourful, something which would bring a smile to his lips and stop the tears rolling slowly down his cheeks. Once he realised they were there, there was no stopping them, and he curled on the floor and cried.

He was used to having nothing, but having everything and having it taken away was much worse.

By the time Remus moved again his legs were stiff and aching, his collar damp, and the sun beginning to hide behind the terraces. He was no closer to finding Sirius. No closer at all. He should have sent an owl. He should have sent an owl weeks ago. No, he should have stopped the bloody man leaving in the first place! Maybe if he'd never made that first mistake then nothing would have happened and James and Lily would still be with them. Maybe this was his punishment for letting one of the Marauder's leave, mistrusting another, and not patching everything up with them. He'd not fought enough so they'd permanently been taken from him.

Finally he fixed on a memory that he knew would never work, and let it fill him with pained emotion. He hiccoughed, trying to breathe through the snot that was choking him. He raised his right arm slightly, and muttered the words of the spell. "_Expecto Patronum_."

Not even a wisp of blue appeared.

It was the final straw for Remus. The patronus had always been something he could do. His one true talent. If had been necessary to learn, having had life as werewolf and seeing horrors that no one else had, living horrors that no one else had, doing horrible things to himself and fearing worse for others, but he'd always been _good_ at it. His good times had been so good, he appreciated them like no one else, he took nothing for granted, not his friends, not his family, not his life, but that had all been wrenched away from him with one single article in _The Daily Prophet._

He really was truly and utterly alone.


	6. Aurors and Legalities

**Night, 1st November 1981**

Thinking was something that Remus had done a lot in his life. It had always been something bittersweet, never something that he relished doing, but always something that he felt he had to do, something unavoidable. He realised that there must be some truth in what Lily had said about intelligent people being more likely to get depressed, because he'd been termed intelligent before and now he was over thinking everything until his head swam. He'd had a lot of time to think in his life too, especially now, still huddled under a tree outside Grimmauld Place, his arms wrapped around him, trying to keep the warmth in. It was more than just the weather that was chilling his bones. He despised autumn and the muted yellows more than ever.

The crack of apparition broke the silence.

With a stiff neck, Remus looked up at the noise, finding what could only be an Auror standing in front of him, jaw clenching as he searched out his target. Conditioned from seven years of mischief at Hogwarts and more on secret missions for the Order of the Phoenix, he scrambled to his feet immediately, using the tree for support, trying to come up with a credible reason for magically breaking into a reservoir in the middle of Islington. The ideas weren't flying through his head like they used to, Gryffindor would have already lost fifty points if they'd been in Hogwarts.

The Auror drew himself up to his full height, surveying the dishevelled man before him from head to toe as Remus studied him equally intensely. He was wearing a long beige trench-coat, buttoned over a smart waistcoat, with a pocket-watch tucked into the breast pocket on a delicate silver chain. In his hair there were minute flecks of grey around the temple, and his broad face was free from any stubble, revealing the lines of middle age across his otherwise youthful skin. Unlike a large proportion of the aurors he wasn't someone who also helped out the Order, and for that he was half-thankful. He didn't want their sympathy, or anyone he knew seeing him like this. He wanted answers. He wanted Sirius.

"You are Remus John Lupin, of 33 St Mark's Rise, Dalston, London. Is that correct?" The Auror folded his arms, not really needing the answer, and giving him _that_ look, the one that showed he knew of his lycanthropy.

Remus cleared his throat, drawing himself up to his full height, determined not to be beaten by a prejudiced Auror who had never met him before. "That is correct."

A dangerous, almost excited glint entered the Auror's eyes. "Am I also correct in the knowledge that you shared your residence at 33 St Mark's Rise with Sirius Black III?"

At the mention of Sirius' name Remus' stomach clenched. There was no knowing what Sirius had done in order for an Auror to be sent looking for him. There was a split second in which he forgot about James and Lily and thought that the Auror could have been a stripper sent to reconcile between them. Then he remembered, realised that Sirius had better taste than this, and his face visibly crumpled. The frown on his face deepened, and his fingers wormed themselves into a cross as he prayed that Sirius hadn't gotten himself into any danger. "That is also correct." His voice failed him as he breathed the words.

"Would you please come with me for questioning." It was an order, not a question.

A tendril of ice wrapped itself around Remus' heart. His outward stoicism failed him and he almost fell to the floor begging to be relieved of the worry and uncertainty. "Oh Merlin, please tell me he's okay." His voice was nothing less than a breathless whisper. He couldn't lose another, there was no way that someone could survive that much loss and still keep their sanity. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't.

"Mr Black is very much alive." The Auror snorted, emotion entering his voice for the first time, but the disgust didn't even register in Remus' brain.

Relief flooded through him. Sirius was alive. Sirius was okay. He'd just done something stupid, no wonder. Probably just got drunk and started doing magic in a muggle place or something, that would definitely be like him. He was okay enough to give his address and get them to summon Remus. It was going to be okay. His body suddenly felt loose with the relief coursing through it. When the Auror held his arm out for side-along apparition he took it without question. Wherever he was being taken would be an improvement on the situation he was now in. Perhaps he'd be taken to Sirius, he'd get his Padfoot back, even if... even if the others had gone where they could never come back. Sirius would know how to fix things, that was what he was good at, messing things up but always putting them back together better than before.

There was a jerk on his navel, and Remus found himself being squeezed through the sickening tube of apparition, made all the worse for the feeling of the wolf that resided in the back of his brain trying to keep him in Grimmauld Place. It was a short journey, the wolf didn't get chance to fight for too long before he was able to breathe again. His feet stumbled on a black tile floor, and he struggled to quickly regain his balance, embarrassed at his poor apparition skills, trying not to think of all the Slytherin jeers during their apparition lessons. It was nothing short of a miracle that he'd managed to get his license, and admittedly, it had taken him four attempts. Even the Marauder's taunts had gotten almost unbearable.

"This way, Mr Lupin." The Auror said curtly, withdrawing his arm quickly and directing him into an interrogation cell. At the door he stopped and held out his hand. "Wand."

Hesitantly Remus handed over the wand, knowing it was what was expected of him. The Auror slotted it into an alcove in the wall where it was hidden behind a sheen of magic.

Being in the small dark room made him realise that this was going to be a meeting without coffee, and that something bad had happened. Nervous, he took the seat which was being pointed out to him, folding his arms in his lap, hoping that it wouldn't be long before he would be realised and could see Sirius. The stuffy underground air was making him feel sick. From a rack on the side of the wall the Auror took a quill and conjured a piece of parchment with a non-verbal spell. The parchment and quill hovered in the air, posed to take note of everything that was said and happened.

"1st November 1981, 9:30pm. Auror Williamson questioning Remus John Lupin, of 33 St Mark's Rise, Dalston, London, about the involvement of Sirius Black III, of the same address, with the Dark Wizard commonly known as You-Know-Who."

Remus froze. He played the words over and over in his head but they made no more sense than they had the first time. An unnameable emotion welled up inside him. The scratching of the quill was too loud, unbearably loud. He couldn't think. Sirius. His Sirius. Their Sirius. Working for Voldemort? Even over the last fortnight, when Sirius hadn't been around anymore he'd never considered that he would have been working for Voldemort. He'd accused him of being a spy for Merlin's sake. The very idea was ridiculous. It was Sirius they were talking about, the man who had abandoned his whole family and everything he'd been indoctrinated into since before he was conceived.

The Auror, Williamson, was talking again. "Were you aware that Sirius Black was working for You-Know-Who?"

"No!" Remus yelped, shocked by the bluntness of the question. "What are you suggesting?!"

"Black was recently caught following the murder of James and Lily Potter last night, and numerous people within the last hour, estimated to the wizard Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles."

Blood ran cold. Breath came in gasps. Peter Pettigrew. Peter was gone as well. The meek, timid, slightly disturbing but still... their Wormtail. He was one of them too. The boy who'd always followed them around and worshipped them like they were Merlin reincarnated. Wormtail who'd never been the brightest lumos in the world but still did his best. Wormtail who'd never been the bravest but still took part in everything. Wormtail who'd always wanted to please. Remus gasped and spluttered, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the table. Head swimming.

"No. James and Lily and Peter were our friends. His friends. No. Not Sirius. He wouldn't -"

Williamson abruptly cut across his panicked blabbering. "Mr Lupin, did you have any involvement in the dark activities that occurred last night."

"No! No but -"

"Then you weren't there."

"I wasn't but Sirius wouldn -"

"Where were you last night between ten and eleven o'clock?"

"I was at home! I was at home all night. I had nothing to do with it and neither did Si -" The image of Dementors came unbidden into his mind, suffocating him as quickly as a kiss, causing him to falter.

Picking up on the slight pause Williamson kept the questions coming, trying to break the already broken young man in front of him. "You said you _shared_ a residence with Mr Black, did you not notice he was missing?"

Remus threw his hands up in frustration, both with the incessant questioning, irrational accusations and at his terrible argument with Sirius. Running his hands through his hair on their way down he sighed heavily. "We argued, he hadn't been home in weeks."

"So you had no contact with Black or any other Death Eaters?" Williamson's eyes began to widen, creasing in the corner with a poorly hidden smile of satisfaction.

It was the final straw and Remus snapped, leaping to his feet and screaming, his spittle spraying over the desk. "Sirius is _not_ a Death Eater! He was not a fucking Death Eater! He thought it was me. That's why he left. He fought against Voldemort! James and Lily and Peter are our friends." He crumpled at the realisation he had been talking about them in the present tense, and was forced to swallow hard. "Were my friends."

The Auror remained calm in his chair. "Mr Lupin, if you don't calm down you'll be subjected to a full-body bind and detained as an uncontrolled half-species."

Remus collapsed into the chair at his words, knowing that there was nothing that he could to do to help Sirius if he was detained in a Ministry cell. "All I'm trying to say is that they were his friends. James was as good as his brother, his parents adopted him in his fifth year at Hogwarts."

"Is there any hard evidence you can provide to prove the innocence of Black?"

"No but -"

"Then you are free to go." Williamson turned away from his interviewee to the quill which was franticaly scribbling to keep up with the fast paced conversation. "Interview concluded at 9:42pm, 1st November 1981. Sirius Black III to be charged on thirteen counts of murder, and exposure against the Statue of Secrecy. Remus John Lupin to be cleared of all association."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and Remus' body went on another hippogriff ride of emotions. First that he had been suspected of having something to do with the deaths of his friends, second relief that he was cleared, but mostly pure uncontrollable rage. The words kept ringing in his head, breaking him over and over again. _Sirius Black III to be charged on thirteen counts of murder... to be charged on thirteen counts of murder... Sirius Black III... murder... charged._

"When's his hearing?" He demanded suddenly, thinking of a final loophole. When the Auror meerly twisted his wide mouth into a smirk he launched across the table, grabbing him roughly by his coat. "When the fuck is his hearing?!"

Williamson stepped back smartly, drew his wand and cast a full body bind. "There will be no hearing. Mr Black will be sent to Askaban immediately."

"Why? Why the fuck not?" Remus spat, thankful that he could at least control his mouth. He had to fight hard to keep his magic under control, even though he couldn't remember a time since second year that he'd lost control. Grown wizards didn't lose their temper, or at least not in a magical way, but he could almost feel the storm ripping apart the already bare room, and tearing the Auror and his stupid quill apart. "Sirius deserves a fair trial, he's bloody innocent!"

The smirk widened. "And who do you suppose will give evidence at this trial? The House of Black has disowned him and his friends are all dead."

"What do you think I am then?"

"You, Mr Lupin, are a werewolf. And you will remain here until the Ministry can assure that you are no danger to the lives of innocent humans." He grinned and walked out of the room, smugness plastered over his face. The door swung shut behind him, leaving Remus on the cold floor alone with nothing but his thoughts.


End file.
